


Reconcile, Part One

by Cavatica



Series: Breaking and Entering [5]
Category: Animorphs (TV), Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Bisexuality, Bullying, Canon Gay Relationship, Confrontation, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Relationship Conflict, Sad Ending, gay andalites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica
Summary: Marco has to deal with the fact that his cultural differences with Ax aren’t as insignificant as he thought. With encouragement from Cassie and Tobias, Marco confronts Ax about his attitudes towards the disabled, but just ends up frustrated when Ax doesn’t renounce his prejudices. He decides he needs a different Andalite perspective and cultivates a friendship with Mertil-Iscar-Elmand. Gafinilan asks Marco for a favor, and his decline plays a significant role in Ax and Marco overcoming their differences.In the same continuity as Breaking and Entering, but it’s not required to read B&E first. Set one week after #40 The Other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: brief violence and slur against a person using a wheelchair -- I tried to keep this minimally upsetting; immediate violent retribution against a bully
> 
> If you haven't read #40 or it's been a while, I put together [this reference document](http://acavatica.tumblr.com/post/152612296757/highlights-from-animorphs-40) of relevant quotes you can use as a primer. This fic takes place a week later and is 100% dealing with the fallout of Marco discovering Ax's least flattering quality.
> 
> This fic is in continuity with Breaking and Entering, but it's not required to read that first.

The hallway was busy between classes -- bumping shoulders, getting hit with giant backpacks, and squeezing between people were just things you had to deal with, especially for someone Marco’s size. Accidents happened and you didn't even really have to apologize. But the hallway wasn’t so busy that Marco didn’t see what happened. He saw that it wasn't an accident. A big, meat-headed guy Marco vaguely knew for being dull and unpleasant shouted, “‘Scuse me, Shortbus!” Seconds later he violently rammed a wheelchair into the lockers, almost overturning it and the person using it. 

Marco focused in. The kid in the wheelchair was named Larry, and Marco didn't really know him either. He knew he was in some nerdy clubs and wore thick glasses and was relentlessly bullied. He knew that he wasn't in the mood to see any kid slammed into a locker, let alone a disabled kid. Well. Now he knew at least one kid who deserved it. 

Marco weaved through the crowd, forgetting himself, forgetting the consequences. The bully had already moved on, but Larry was still settling back into his chair, one hand steadying his chair by the wheel, one hand on the lockers. He was probably fine. Marco bypassed him and came up behind the bully with a sudden sharp elbow to the kidney. He had to use his size as an advantage because this guy was big, with the build of a varsity football player. But Marco was wiry, experienced, and pissed. 

The blow to the guy’s kidney made him grunt. It was immediately clear he’d been rendered stunned and breathless. Before the bully could whirl on him, Marco fisted a handful of the back of the guy’s shirt, twisting so the collar tightened around his neck. He used the makeshift handle as leverage to smash the bully’s upper body against the locker, putting all of his weight behind the blow. He heard the air escape from the bully’s lungs. Marco pulled him down to his knees by his shirt-garrote. The dude was blubbering and gasping now, and Marco pushed his face flat against the lockers, his fingers threading like a claw into the bully’s hair. 

“What did you just do?” Marco hissed in a low voice. The guy was struggling to breathe, clearly in no place to answer. “Maybe you should only hit people who can fight back.” He tightened his hand into a fist in the bully’s hair and pulled his head back for another blow against the locker. 

Suddenly, hands were on him. Marco was being grabbed around the elbows and dragged across the hall. He didn't struggle. He felt like he was watching everything from somewhere in the ceiling. All that mattered was the big guy was on all fours and the little guy was shocked, but was safely wheeling away. Marco let himself be manhandled out into the parking lot. He didn’t care who had him. He didn’t try to focus. He looked up at the sky. No clouds. No birds. Just deep, deep blue.

“What the hell were you doing?” Jake yelled, and Marco snapped back. 

What _was_ he doing?

He wriggled out of Jake’s grip and glared up at him. “Did you see that?” Marco demanded. Marco was pumped full of adrenaline, his hands shaking. “He almost tossed a kid in a wheelchair onto the floor!”

“Dude! You can't do that! You just assaulted the quarterback!” Jake was furious. 

“So, because he's a football star, he gets to shove disabled kids into lockers and call them names? He deserved it.” Marco shook out his numb hands and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

“Maybe he did,” Jake allowed, “but it’s not your job to do it. You’re lucky no teachers were around. Brandt isn’t exactly going to rat on you, since he just got his ass kicked by a five foot tall freshman. But _you know you can’t do that_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess if I end up in juvie, you’ll have a hard time coordinating meetings,” Marco grumbled.

“You know it’s not juvie you should be worried about,” Jake said. “Did you just do a partial gorilla morph to overpower him?” 

Marco was surprised and a bit annoyed at the implication but shook his head. “I’m not stupid. You clearly underestimate my roguelike tactical advantages.”

“God, Marco. I thought I only had to worry about Rachel doing this kind of thing.” Jake ran his fingers through his hair in that stressed out way. 

Cassie came jogging up behind them. “I talked to Larry. He’s fine. Some other football guys came to help the guy you wailed on. He seems fine too, but his friends are teasing him for getting beaten up by ‘a tiny Mexican’ -- ”

Marco interrupted, “Can I go back in there and finish them off?”

“He didn’t know who you were, so I think you’ll be okay. You’re lucky, this time,” Cassie said.

“Okay, yeah, I get it, I’ll try not to Hulk out next time I see a helpless person getting tormented. I love being a superhero,” Marco said bitterly.

“We’re not superheroes, we’re soldiers,” Jake said under his breath. “And being a soldier means you have to be careful to not bring that into your regular life.”

“School is not my regular life,” Marco said darkly.

“Don’t do this again, Marco. I’m going to class.” Jake started walking away and looked back at Cassie, holding out a hand for her.

Cassie held her hand up. “I’ll catch up.” She looked back to Marco sympathetically.

“I don’t need your therapy services, Lucy. I get it, I fucked up. What’s new?” 

“I just wanted to know if you thought maybe this was about more than standing up for a kid getting bullied,” Cassie suggested gently.

Marco frowned. “What else would it be about?”

Cassie sighed. She could tell Marco was being intentionally evasive. “It doesn't seem like it was a coincidence that the kid getting bullied was in a wheelchair,” she said, parsing her words carefully. “Like maybe you already had some pent up aggression about a certain someone's feelings on disabled people?”

Marco groaned. “I can’t exactly justify punching Ax in the kidney. Also, I have no idea if he even has kidneys.”

“It's been a week since we rescued Mertil. Have you even talked to Ax?” Cassie asked. 

“No,” Marco said. “How can he believe those things? Andalite honor is BS. You know who shuns disabled people? Fascists. Eugenicists. It's not like I didn't notice Andalites are alien imperialists, but how can Ax treat someone he thought was a hero that way just because he was hurt?”

Cassie pat Marco on the shoulder. “It's really hard to find out someone you care about believes something hateful. But Ax has grown a lot since he started living here. You should talk to him.”

“I'll just get angry at him,” Marco muttered. 

“So are you going to avoid him forever?” Cassie asked. 

“I can be pretty stubborn,” Marco said. 

“I hadn't noticed,” Cassie joked. “We’re super late for class. Don't bottle this up forever.” She waved and crossed the parking lot back toward the double doors. 

Marco crossed his arms and leaned against a car. He'd been trying not to think about how mad at Ax he was, not that it was working. Especially since his dad had asked when Ax was going to visit next. Marco responded in such a noncommittal way, he was pretty sure his dad thought it was over. Whatever it was. Maybe he was right. 

Marco willed himself to drag his body back into the school building. His next class was well underway -- he entered and closed the door quietly behind him. The teacher glared. 

“I was in the bathroom,” he said, taking his seat. “You know how it is.”

“I know I'm marking you tardy,” she replied. Marco shrugged and got his notebook and ballpoint out. He pretended to take notes, but he wasn’t even hearing the teacher. 

It felt good to hurt that bully, even though he knew he was motivated by his anger at Ax. Either way, a jerk was going to be peeing blood, and it made Marco feel better. He sank down in his chair, wondering if he’d always been this way. Would a Marco who didn’t know about Yeerks want to hurt someone for being a bully? Or as a surrogate for his frustration at someone else? Marco didn’t know. He couldn’t even put himself in pre-Elfangor Marco’s headspace anymore. That kid was dead; he didn’t get to have opinions. Post-Elfangor Marco wanted to hurt people and was very angry at Elfangor’s brother.

The bell rang, and Marco looked at his notes. He’d absentmindedly filled the page with scratchy doodles of just eyeballs. Now that he took in what he’d been doing, he felt creeped out, like he was being watched without his knowledge. He shut the notebook, put it in his backpack, and headed to his last class. He shared the class with Jake and they usually sat next to each other, but Marco took a different seat. He wasn’t exactly ashamed of what he’d done but getting told off by Jake felt like disappointing a parent. Except upset Jake was actually worse, since Marco’s own dad was pretty bad at staying angry.

By the end of the day, he’d decided he wasn’t going to talk to Ax. Marco didn’t owe Ax anything. He didn’t owe him forgiveness, and he didn’t owe him a lesson on how a decent person treated other people. Marco was obviously not even qualified to give that lesson. He gathered up all the books he needed for the homework he probably wasn’t going to work on and weaved through the hall, out into the crisp winter sunlight. He looked up at the cloudless sky, a habit he’d developed after years of looking out for potential spaceships and potential birds who weren’t really birds.

Speak of the devil.

The silhouette of a large bird of prey was circling the school. It could have just been a normal bird, but there wasn’t exactly a lot of prey in the school parking lot. The sun was too bright for Marco to see the color of its tail feathers, but he had a suspicion he’d be able to guess. Marco continued walking off school grounds and turned on his usual route home. The shadow of the bird followed him. He rolled his eyes and waved up at it but kept walking.

‹Hey Marco,› Tobias said. Marco returned the greeting with a different hand gesture. ‹Excuse you, some of us are just flying here.› 

Marco had no way to respond to Tobias’ thought-speak, so he paused momentarily, got out his pen and notebook, and resumed walking. He knew Tobias’ hawk eyes would be able to read notes no matter how far up he was.

 _Do you want something?_ Marco wrote in his small, rushed scrawl.

‹I have to want something? You know I patrol the school during the day sometimes,› Tobias said, sounding a little testy.

 _Then why are you following me?_ Marco wrote. 

‹You waved,› Tobias lied. Marco knew he waved after Tobias had started tailing him.

 _This is boring._ Marco hoped Tobias would read his tone in his suddenly-cursive flourish.

‹Fine.› Tobias sounded weary. Apparently, neither of them wanted to be having this conversation. ‹Are you giving Ax the silent treatment?›

_Not your business._

‹Is it not? Because a mopey Andalite is hard to live with. You should see the TV he’s subjecting me to. Lifetime. When Lifetime goes off, taped Lifetime. Twenty-four/seven tragic drama. I’ve seen the movie where the Pink Ranger has an eating disorder three times. Don’t you have sympathy for me?›

 _Not really._ Marco almost ran into a man in a shirt and tie and had to spin to avoid him. This wasn’t the safest or most efficient method of communication.

‹Look, I get that he was gross to those Andalites. It’s weird. But is punishing him going to help?›

Marco shot a glare up at Tobias.

‹Okay, okay,› Tobias backpedaled. ‹You have a right to be angry. But doesn’t he deserve a chance? He’s adapted to a lot on Earth.›

 _Why is it MY responsibility to change him? Leave me alone,_ Marco scribbled. He poked a hole through the paper when he made the period. 

Marco arrived at his house and looked up while he unlocked the door. He watched Tobias rise in a slow circle over his house and out of sight. Marco went inside, locked the door behind him, and went straight to his room, pushing Euclid out of the way with his foot. He took off his backpack, put his notebook on his desk, and flopped onto his bed. Half the sheet was coming off, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. 

He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. After about a minute, he realized he was grinding his teeth and his hands were clenched into fists, so he gave up the attempt. He sat up and looked around his room for a distraction. His eyes squared in on his window, where he could see familiar bird feet and a sharp beak peeking in under his blinds.

He muttered under his breath and got up. He watched Tobias’ talons shift like he thought he was going to be let in, but Marco just closed the blinds and the curtains, got back in bed, and curled up, facing away from the window. Less than a minute passed before he heard tapping on his window.

“Ugggghhh,” he moaned. He crossed his room in a few stomps and threw his window open. “Seriously, Tobias, I’m not in the mood.”

‹Obviously. And you won’t be until you go talk it out.› Tobias ducked under Marco’s window and perched on the sill. 

“Are you just going to keep bugging me until I do?” Marco said, sagging into his desk chair.

‹Yep.›

“You’re seriously annoying.”

‹I know you are, but what am I?› Tobias retorted.

“Come on, you have to at least have better comebacks than that,” Marco moaned.

Marco kicked off the leg of the chair and spun it. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the room turn. He kicked off a couple more times, spinning rapidly, then stopped himself abruptly, facing Tobias. The lurch of his stomach made him a bit more aware of his body. Not that he wanted that.

Tobias started preening his wing, rustling his feathers as loudly as possible. Marco grimaced. He turned around to face his desk, placed his History book in front of him, and flipped to a new page of his notebook. 

‹Are you ignoring me to do homework? You? I’m so proud.› Tobias flapped a bit to make more noise. 

Marco grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his pencil. He looked down at the first question. _List three causes of the Enlightenment_. He groaned, wrote “I. Kant,” and turned back to Tobias, who was making scratching noises on his windowsill.

“Can you stop?” Marco snapped.

‹Yeah, I definitely can,› Tobias said and continued to scratch his long talons slowly across the wood, leaving faint claw marks behind.

“I don’t see how bringing me to the brink of insanity is going to help Ax,” Marco said.

‹I just want you to talk to him.› Tobias ruffled his wings in a bird-shrug.

“Why do you care so much?” Marco crossed his arms.

‹My best friend is upset. Sure, he was awful. Sometimes your friends are awful, and you have to make the choice -- can you live with it?› Tobias’ always-severe gaze seemed to bore into Marco. He felt like Tobias was leaving a lot unsaid. Like he was implying Marco could live with a lot -- like maybe Marco had done worse. It wasn’t a very persuasive approach -- he was just pissing Marco off.

At the same time, Tobias was persistent, and Marco didn’t want him for a roommate.

Marco stood and took off his flannel and the T-shirt underneath. “If this goes really badly, I hope you blame yourself,” Marco muttered, kicking his pants off. 

Stripped down to just his morphing outfit, he took a deep breath. It took longer than usual for him to focus enough for the changes to start. Marco hadn’t felt present in his body all day, but the feeling of his bones grinding as they shrank and the sound of spines popping out of his skin to form feathers was impossible to detach from. It was easier for Marco to connect to his creepy, shifting, mutant body than his real self. But what even was a “real self” when you lived a life like Marco’s?

Fully osprey, he joined Tobias on the windowsill. ‹Lead the way, coercer,› Marco said, sullenly.

‹Gladly.› Tobias took off, and Marco followed at a distance. When they were almost there, Tobias dipped to check if Marco was still there. ‹Best wingman,› he said to himself, congratulatory.

‹Oh my _god_ ,› Marco chided. 

Cassie’s farm was getting closer, and Marco felt weighed down by dread. As they approached the forest, Tobias gained altitude and let Marco fly ahead. ‹I’m going to give you guys space for a couple hours. Don’t kill each other.›

Marco looked over his shoulder and watched Tobias float back toward town. Marco could land, morph, take the bus back home, and not do this. He kept flying. He landed in the forest, but outside of Ax and Tobias’ territory. Marco didn’t want to morph in front of Ax, even though he’d done it hundreds of times. He was going to be vulnerable enough with almost no clothes on, in the woods, in the winter. 

It wasn’t very cold yet, but when Marco was human again, he wrapped his arms around himself. He ignored the twigs that snapped under his feet -- they’d all gotten used to walking barefoot on rough terrain, even though their feet never toughened up because of frequent morphing. 

Marco walked into Ax’s clearing and leaned down so he could see into his scoop. Ax’s scoop was uncharacteristically cluttered -- there were VHS tapes and DVDs scattered around Ax’s TV shelf, as well as some kind of Frankensteined audiovisual and computing equipment. He’d stripped what looked like a composite cable, but he’d stopped in the middle and left all his tools out. Some things were taped together, but it was clear this mess would fall apart if you looked at it wrong.

‹Hello, Marco,› Ax said and Marco snapped out of his preoccupation with figuring out Ax’s new project. Marco felt a wave of sadness and uncertain relief suddenly gripping him. He was annoyed; he didn’t want Ax’s feelings right now. He tried to shut down his mind to maybe block him out, but he was too busy running through possible scenarios for this conversation and subconsciously rehearsing what to say.

Marco leaned forward to get a better look at Ax, whose quadruped half was curled up on his woven grass mat, his tail tucked around his legs, like he was giving himself a hug. He had what looked like his whole book collection stacked within reach, and at least five books were open on the ground to hold their spots.

“You’re a mess,” Marco stated coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Ax’s stalk eyes scanned his scoop. ‹I have started some projects. Would you like to come in?›

“No,” Marco answered. “I’m not here to visit. Tobias wouldn’t leave me alone until I came.”

‹I see.› Ax’s stalk eyes seemed to slacken. The optimism that had edged Ax’s melancholy drained out of Marco.

Marco dropped his arms to his side. “I wasn’t kidding around about Mertil. The way you treated him bothers me. A lot.”

‹It is difficult for me to comprehend why you are so concerned for a _vecol_ and so intent on dishonoring his duty to live in isolation,› Ax replied, in a tone that pushed Marco over the edge. Marco didn’t care how he felt.

“See, that’s just it. You don’t see anything wrong with that. But it’s repulsive. I can’t accept it.” Marco’s short nails were biting into his palms. 

‹That’s what my culture demands of a _vecol_. There are many things I don’t agree with in human culture.› Ax ground the tip of his hoof into the packed earth in front of him. He stared down at it with his main eyes, like he was intent on writing a secret message in the dirt. 

“But it’s inhumane,” Marco said. Ax shot him a look like he was stupid. Marco sneered back, “Bad choice of words. But forcing someone to live in isolation because they got hurt is cruel.”

‹Forcing half a person to live amongst whole people as if they could still have a full life is cruel,› Ax countered.

Marco hissed involuntarily. “I can’t _believe_ you. How can you think that? You can’t tell me Tobias isn’t damaged goods. But I know you think he deserves a life.”

‹Tobias didn’t choose to become a _nothlit_. There is little dishonor in becoming trapped accidentally in the line of duty,› Ax said, his thought-speak cold.

“Then why is it dishonorable to get injured in the line of duty? It’s not like Mertil _chose_ to get hurt. That’s a straight-up contradiction. People lose things in war. Do you really think any of us are going to come out of this whole? Maybe you, since you’re a _perfect Andalite warrior_ ,” Marco spat, “but look at Jake -- he’s barely keeping it together. Rachel is a total psycho. Tobias… Well, let’s just say we wondered if it really _was_ an accident. And I was crazy enough to think I could get past the fact that you’re a different species.”

Ax stared at Marco, silent.

“Just because we can morph away injuries doesn’t mean we’re okay, Ax. I’d rather lose my leg than my sense of self. Only one of those things is happening.” Marco muttered, “I meant what I said. If you can’t get this, you’re not one of us.”

Ax stood up, his tail swishing around to his other side with agitation. He kept it low -- it wasn’t threatening, but he swept it in a way that it was clear he was fuming. ‹Marco, I have adapted to much on Earth, but I have no aspirations to be human. If that’s one of your requirements of me, you will be disappointed.›

“It’s not, but don’t worry, I’m definitely disappointed,” Marco said, voice tight with contempt. “Did you notice, or were you too busy being disgusted about ‘cripples’ -- Gafinilan said he could hear Mertil, or feel him or something, anywhere on the planet?”

‹I noticed,› Ax disdained.

“So they’re together. They’re mates, or whatever,” Marco said.

‹That was obvious.›

“Yeah, don’t be condescending; it was obvious to me, too. So you didn’t think that maybe being friends with them could be useful?” Marco asked, squinting at Ax incredulously.

‹They already proved they were not useful. Mertil is a _vecol_ , and Gafinilan is dying.›

“Ax. Try to have empathy for just a second. I know it’s hard for you. But don’t you think that I, Marco, the only bisexual person I know -- besides you, I guess -- might have something to learn from two Andalite dudes in a relationship with each other? Like for instance, how to do that long range thought-speak thing we were only able to pull off once? Or how to get an arrogant Andalite to listen?”

Ax’s tail dropped low, almost brushing the ground. ‹I… did not consider you might feel this way.›

“No, obviously.” Marco said, “And now you’ve been such a jerk to them that if I had more shame, I’d be embarrassed to go back.”

‹I acted appropriately and in accordance with cultural expectations. Mertil and Gafinilan are Andalites and should not have been offended by my reactions. They are the ones violating custom.›

“I’m just guessing, but I’m pretty sure you did offend them. Telling Gafinilan he should have let Mertil die and all,” Marco said bitterly.

‹It would have been a mercy.› Ax added, ‹For both of them, since Gafinilan won’t be around to care for Mertil much longer.›

“Why are Andalites like this? How can you think you’re being honorable when you force sick and injured people to live outside society or die?” Marco honestly didn’t know how much he wanted to let Ax justify himself, but at this point he was so baffled, he had to know.

‹Andalites are prey animals,› Ax explained. ‹Without a tail blade, you can’t defend yourself. If you are missing more than one leg, you can’t run. If you are a burden to your family, you put everyone at risk of dying. It is only logical that such a person choose death or solitude, to spare their family hardship. For their own honor.›

“But you’re not prey anymore. You have advanced technology and spaceships and the resources to take care of injured people. Why uphold such a primitive tradition?” Marco picked the word intentionally to bother Ax. He saw from his twitching tail blade, it was working. 

‹Traditions don't go away just because technology advances.›

“Yeah, but it’s important for a society to recognize shitty traditions and move on. Humans don’t put people in leper colonies anymore. Because it’s cruel, and we found out there’s no medical reason to do it. Gafinilan is right; friendship _is_ more important than some stupid custom.” 

‹It is not as simple as a ‘stupid custom,’› Ax said. ‹Societies have rules for a reason. Even if they are outdated or difficult to understand, one cannot just violate them at will.›

“Elfangor broke the law to give us the morphing power. You disobeyed orders to stay with us. Your _shorm_ is a human _nothlit_. Don’t you think defying something you know is wrong about your culture for the sake of what’s right is honorable, Ax? I know you do.” Marco hated the desperation in his voice. He was trying not to sound like a weak, stupid human, but he worried that’s how Ax was seeing him. 

He and Ax stared at each other silently. A minute passed and Marco couldn’t look at him anymore, so he looked at his feet. Finally, Ax said, ‹I believe I need to think about this. I need time to consider your points.›

“Well,” Marco said, “consider them. I need time, too.”

Marco focused on his osprey morph and started to shrink. He was almost finished when Ax spoke again. ‹I miss you. I wish we could reconcile this disagreement.›

Marco glared at Ax with his fierce yellow osprey eyes. ‹Then I advise you to think pretty hard.› 

He flew away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is lonely and misses hanging out with Andalites. He's still mad at Ax, so he decides to see if Mertil can help him understand Ax better. Turns out, Mertil has a lot of insight into Andalite culture and Ax in particular and Gafinilan has good taste in snacks.

It was the week of winter break -- after Christmas but before New Year’s. If things had been different, he’d probably be spending his vacation with Ax, playing video games and watching trash TV. Maybe other stuff. Despite himself, he thought of the other stuff a lot. Marco wanted to tell himself he was so angry at Ax that he didn’t care, didn’t miss him. 

The truth was, a part of him -- a loud part -- was saying that this was stupid, he should just let it go. And at night, when Marco tossed and turned with cold sweat and screaming dreams, that voice told him Ax was the only good thing that had happened to him since his mom “died.” When he balled himself up in his sheets and blankets and struggled to breathe, remembering the last time he saw his mom and the choices he’d been willing to make, that voice asked him how he could judge anyone. Told him he didn’t deserve the friends he had -- told him that everything was temporary, and that even if by some miracle they made it out of this alive, they would all abandon him because now they knew who he was. Even Ax.

But in the afternoon, he was mostly just antsy and bored. Jake was out of town. Marco had already beaten all his N64 games, including the new _Castlevania_ he’d just gotten for Christmas. He wasn’t ready to forgive Ax. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Marco didn’t have school, but his dad had work. So would Gafinilan, he hoped, as he circled over the Andalites’ ranch-style home in osprey morph. He kept a respectable distance, wary of the force field that protected their property. He didn’t need to be close to see that Mertil was nowhere in sight.

He dropped down as low as he felt comfortable getting. ‹Um.› He called out, ‹Mertil?› 

He didn’t have to wait long for a response, although the thought-speech sounded flat and confused. ‹Who is there?›

‹It’s, uh, it’s Marco. Remember?› He was turning narrow circles over the house, feeling very conspicuous.

‹Ah, of course!› Mertil’s thought-speech perked up in tone, which was oddly endearing. ‹I am not exactly prepared to have a guest, but you are welcome to join me. Gafinilan is not here.›

‹Thanks. How do I get in?›

‹I’m turning off the security system now. You may enter through the front door, if that is agreeable. It is unlocked.› 

Marco dropped tentatively, still worried about slamming into an invisible wall, despite Mertil’s reassurance. He landed beside the greenhouse, hopped between their house and a hedge, and demorphed. When he was back to his charming and handsome self, Marco slid between the two scratchy but perfectly manicured bushes and let himself in. 

The house hadn’t changed -- it was still immaculate, unsettlingly over-decorated, and clearly unused. Marco was wrinkling his nose at the sad clown portrait, when the wall panel in the kitchen opened behind him. He turned to see Mertil cautiously step out of their grassy personal quarters. Marco waved in what he hoped was an obviously non-threatening gesture to someone who wasn’t familiar with human body language. 

Mertil smiled with his eyes, closing the panel behind him. He walked into the kitchen, and Marco couldn’t help but study him. He didn’t move as confidently (one might say aggressively) as Gafinilan, but he was more self-possessed than Ax. Ax was graceful, but Mertil moved with the smooth control of a finely-honed warrior. Of course, he still held the remains of his tail down flat against his leg, but he didn’t seem as stiff and uncomfortable as the first time Marco met him. 

‹I understand my condition is unusual, but you are staring at me and it’s becoming disconcerting,› Mertil said.

Marco shook his head. “No! I’m sorry. It’s not that. I don’t have a problem with it.” Marco tried to sound confident and sincere. “I just don’t know many Andalites, so… Uh.”

Mertil seemed to accept this as an answer and opened a cabinet. He cocked his head thoughtfully, and his stalk eyes swiveled to look at Marco. Marco was surprised and kind of amused that the cabinet appeared to be full of junk food -- Doritos, Oreos, tiny powdered donuts, and he thought he saw several packets of Pop Rocks. How had none of them thought to give Ax Pop Rocks? He frowned at the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

‹Would you like any refreshments? Gafinilan never has humans over, but he occasionally indulges in human food and beverages. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to use the preparation devices. He mostly engages in the practice of ‘a midnight snack.’›

“That’s okay,” Marco reassured. “I just wanted to see how you and Gafinilan are doing.”

‹That’s very considerate. Gafinilan often complains about human manners, but if you are representative of your species, I think he must be quite impatient.›

“Well,” Marco said, “I’m not _that_ representative of your average human, but from what I know of Gaf, it’s probably the latter.”

Mertil turned back to Marco and smiled another disarming Andalite smile. Maybe it was because Marco knew about the tragedies he was enduring, but Mertil’s smiles were striking. Marco had no way to gauge, but he had a feeling Mertil was quite handsome. Obviously, he thought Ax was beautiful as an Andalite (and gorgeous as a human), but Mertil had none of Ax’s gawky youthful features. In their place were strong, supple arms, and the hint of taut muscles under Mertil’s darker blue fur. 

‹You are staring again,› Mertil pointed out. ‹Is this a human trait I am not aware of? In my culture, such staring would indicate an impending challenge.›

Marco realized he was holding his breath and let it out. _Oh god_ , Marco realized, _I actually think he’s hot. I'm into Andalites. In general. Great. Yet another thing on the “can’t talk to a therapist about that one” list._

“Yeah, no, it's just me. Sorry, again. I don’t want anything. Would you be more comfortable in the… inner sanctum?” Marco asked. “I’ve already been there, so it’s not like you need to hide it.”

‹I do prefer it, if you don’t mind,› Mertil admitted.

“No, this house is creepy,” Marco said quickly, then pressed his mouth into a thin line, hoping he hadn’t offended Mertil.

Mertil breathed out a small snorty Andalite laugh that Marco was familiar with from spending time with Ax. Marco’s chest tightened. ‹I agree,› Mertil said, and Marco smiled, pushing down his complicated feelings about Ax. Mertil entered the code to open the hidden door and motioned for Marco to enter. Again, it was the same as he remembered, although now instead of all the TV screens being tuned to news, about half of them were playing regular TV -- movies, cartoons, TV Land, the works. 

“Is that _A Christmas Story_? That should be a crime; Christmas is over,” Marco commented. 

Mertil retrieved a chair from their _Home & Garden_ dining room. He turned a stalk eye to the television. ‹Yes,› he confirmed. ‹That channel has been repeating the same 90 Earth minutes of footage for three days. At this point, I am wondering if this is an unusual method of torture.›

Marco sat down in the chair Mertil offered and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. “Do you like TV? Ax likes TV,” Marco asked, trying to keep his words neutral despite the fact that bringing up Ax might be a sore spot for both of them.

Mertil didn’t seem to care, or at least didn’t show it, if he did. ‹Human entertainment is strange,› Mertil said in measured thought-speech. ‹I believe most programs represent a caricature of human relationships. It is not a good way to research earth cultures, but at the same time, I often find myself transfixed. Gafinilan finds television annoying, but I am frequently bored, so I have become well-acquainted with all the _Friends._ ›

Marco rocked back and forth in his chair, jiggling one knee. “Yeah,” he said, carefully, “you must get lonely when he’s not here. But at least you have each other.”

‹Yes,› Mertil agreed, breaking eye contact. ‹For now. His illness is progressing more rapidly than I hoped. But, as I am, I do not deserve his friendship at all. I suppose I am thankful the universe has spared me any pity.›

Marco’s breath caught in his throat. “Gafinilan doesn’t think you don’t deserve him. He was willing to do anything for you.”

Mertil tensed and pulled the stump of his tail even closer to his body. ‹His conduct has been disgraceful, but… I am thankful for him.›

Marco shook his head emphatically. “I thought a lot of things about Gafinilan. Mostly that he could break me in half. But disgraceful wasn’t one of them. You’re not among Andalites; you don’t have to suffer any more than you have.”

The Andalite sighed, looking up at the sky blue ceiling. ‹Humans are so contradictory. You seem to believe wholeheartedly in mercy, but I have seen unmatched brutality on Earth, as well.›

“We believe in love,” Marco said simply.

Mertil jerked and trained all four eyes keenly on Marco. ‹Is it so obvious, even to humans?›

Marco shrugged. “I’m not your typical human, like I said. But maybe. You’re pretty devoted to each other.”

Mertil’s reactions were harder for Marco to read than Ax’s. Whether it was because he was an adult warrior with more emotional control, or if it was that Ax had picked up so many human mannerisms, Marco didn’t know. He wished he could tell if Mertil was annoyed. ‹I understand you are sympathetic, and I know my status doesn’t afford it, but please grant me the dignity to not intrude upon our personal matters.›

Marco held his hands up, palms facing Mertil. “I don’t want to offend you. And like I said, I’m human -- you deserve respect no matter what. I just wish I could convince Ax of that.”

‹It bothers you that young Aximili reacts to me in a manner that is in accordance with Andalite values?› Mertil’s thought-speech piqued with interest.

“It bothers me a lot,” Marco confirmed. 

Mertil touched his chin and seemed to be weighing what he wanted to say. ‹I am not very familiar with Aximili’s service record, but you must be aware that we all knew his brother Elfangor.›

“Yeah,” Marco said.

‹Elfangor was a highly decorated War-Prince, and one of the youngest to achieve that rank. He was also somewhat notorious for defying convention and proposing creative -- one might say suicidal -- solutions to problems. We lost a great warrior and leader when he died,› Mertil said solemnly.

“Yeah,” Marco agreed, smoothing down hair on the back of his head. “If only that ‘defying convention’ thing ran in the family.”

Mertil snorted with surprising abandon, like he thought that was hilarious. It was weird. ‹I suppose Aximili hasn’t told you much about his family?›

Marco quirked his eyebrow. “No, not really. I guess it’s kind of painful.”

‹I’m sure,› Mertil agreed. ‹Aximili’s mother, Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen, is famous on the Andalite homeworld.›

Both Marco’s eyebrows shot up. “What, really?”

Mertil was eye-smiling again, seemingly delighted at Marco’s surprise. ‹Yes. Some might say infamous. She is a writer, journalist, and poet who strongly opposes the war and the position of military in society. She has been investigated several times for suspicions of seditious organizing. And, as a lover of poetry, I can tell you, her work is sublime.›

“No way,” Marco breathed. 

‹She was also considered fabulously elegant and desirable at the start of her career. She turned down all suitors even remotely associated with military affairs. It was shocking when Elfangor registered for the Academy. In interviews, Forlay supported him fiercely but maintained her iconoclastic opinions. They are a fascinating family.›

Marco couldn’t hide his outrage. “If Ax’s mom is some kind of rebel poet, why is he so caught up on this _vecol_ BS?”

‹I can only speculate,› Mertil said. ‹Again, I have not read Aximili’s personnel report. But I imagine, growing up with a high-profile mother who many consider a traitor and a brother who was a hero when he was barely out of the Academy… Well, Aximili probably feels like he has much to live up to and to prove as a warrior. Possibly he overcompensates by holding tight to tradition and only making what he considers justifiable exceptions… such as aligning himself with aliens.›

Marco shook his head in disbelief. “So, you’re telling me Ax is Alex P. Keaton?”

‹I have no idea what that means,› Mertil admitted flatly.

“Michael J. Fox’s breakout role? He played the Republican son of hippie parents?” Marco shook his head at Mertil’s blank stare. “If Ax ever comes around, he can catch you up on pop culture.”

‹No offense, but I would rather use the limited human information network The Internet if I wanted to learn these things. I am not interested in forcing my company upon Aximili.›

“But Ax has tapes you could watch. He tapes _all television_.”

Mertil’s ears perked. ‹Does he get Showtime and HBO? Gafinilan refuses to pay for the premium channels.›

Marco laughed. His eyes settled on one of the news networks that was on behind Mertil. The time onscreen was three o'clock. “What time does Gafinilan get home? I don’t want to get murdered for paying you a visit.”

‹He will be home in less than an hour,› Mertil said. ‹He probably would not murder you. But I will speak with him to make sure.› Mertil hesitated, then continued, ‹I would be gratified if you would like to stop by again. This has been surprisingly enjoyable.›

“Yeah,” Marco said immediately, then felt self-conscious about how enthusiastic he sounded. “I’m glad you feel that way. I thought so, too.”

~*~

Mertil had given Marco a lot to think about, but understanding where Ax was coming from a bit more didn’t magically make things better. If anything, spending a couple hours with Mertil had made things worse, since Marco had a clearer picture of the person Ax was insistent upon treating as less than a person. Marco felt compelled to keep his developing friendship with Mertil a secret, since he had weekly plans to visit him after school. At least, if there was one bright side to him and Ax not talking, it was that he didn’t have to bother to lie.

Marco drifted lazily on a cool afternoon breeze that was wafting him toward Mertil and Gafinilan’s house. He’d visited a couple more times since the first, and they’d fallen into a rhythm. Mertil knew when to expect him, and Marco was free to just walk in. 

‹Incoming,› Marco called down, dropping into their back yard. The security system was already off. Marco landed near the hedge and started to demorph.

‹I am in the greenhouse,› Mertil answered. ‹I would prefer to chat here today, if that is agreeable to you.›

‹It’s fine,› Marco said, mid-morph. 

‹I brought your tea and confections outside,› Mertil said. Since his first visit, Mertil had been providing Marco with snacks. Marco insisted it wasn’t necessary, but Mertil insisted too, so Marco was forced to accept his hospitality. It didn’t hurt that Gafinilan apparently purchased pastries from the best bakery in town every time he visited. Gafinilan refused to even see Marco, but he clearly had high standards for what should be provided to guests.

Marco, fully human, joined Mertil in the greenhouse. There was a small table in the corner, accompanied by a folding chair and a full spread of tea and scones. Marco smiled at Mertil, about to thank him, but he faltered when he noticed Mertil’s expression. He was staring at the sky through the glass ceiling of the greenhouse, looking vacant. He was gripping the side of the work table, unsteady.

“Are you… are you okay?” Marco asked.

‹I am fine,› Mertil said, in the least convincing tone possible.

“Is Gaf?” 

Marco winced as a shudder ran through Mertil and he closed his main eyes.

‹He is spending almost all his time in morph now,› Mertil said. ‹When he is not, he is in agony. I’ve begged him to just stay in morph, but he will not intentionally become a _nothlit_. He would rather die than fall to my level.›

Marco felt helpless. This wasn't something a joke could help. Marco opened and shut his mouth, feeling inadequate. He had to say something. “I don’t think… I’m not an expert on your culture, Mertil, but it seems like he blames himself for your injury, not you. So I think it’s probably… how much shame can he live with?” 

Mertil shook his head. ‹I am trying not to be selfish. I am sorry for exposing my weakness to you.›

“Dude. You’re not weak. Sharing your pain is strong,” Marco assured him.

‹Human values are very different from Andalite values,› Mertil said. He sighed and looked down at a small potted shrub in front of him. Marco assumed it must be an Andalite plant. It looked something like a bonsai tree, if bonsai trees had spiraling, spear-like branches that ended in curly tendrils of chartreuse and yellow leaves. Mertil stared at the plant for a minute, took up a pair of scissors, and tentatively snipped off a single leaf. He looked back up at Marco. ‹I am a wretched gardener.›

Feeling like Mertil was occupied with his least favorite hobby, Marco sat down at the little table. He poured himself a cup of tea, added some milk, and dumped in four spoons of sugar. He picked up one of the scones and sniffed it. “Cinnamon?”

‹They are Gafinilan’s favorites. He kept some for himself,› Mertil explained.

“That’s funny,” Marco remarked, zero humor in his voice. He put the scone down.

‹Why is it funny?› Mertil pressed. 

Marco shrugged. “That’s Ax’s favorite, too. He goes crazy for cinnamon buns. Must be something about it that’s appealing to you guys.”

‹Two Andalites are a very small sample set. I wouldn’t know, but it does smell interesting,› Mertil said. ‹Are you and Aximili still not speaking?›

“Nope. I guess we’re both really stubborn.”

‹Yes,› Mertil agreed, bleakly, ‹Andalites can be somewhat inflexible. It is odd that you are also so steadfast in your beliefs that you don’t think you can make your friendship work around this disagreement.›

“Yeah, well.” Marco slurped down to the soggy mound of sugar at the bottom of his cup. He poured himself another and stirred thoughtfully. “Would you be with Gaf if he thought your friend was disgusting just for existing?” Marco stopped stirring and looked up at Mertil expectantly. He hadn’t outed his and Ax’s complicated relationship to Mertil so far, but Mertil had shared a lot with him. Marco was tired of him not knowing.

Mertil, who had been trimming the leaves of the miniature potted bush, had frozen mid-clip and was staring at him. ‹I believe the nature of my relationship was not the subject?› he said slowly.

“No,” Marco agreed, and downed his cup of tea, ignoring the way his throat seared because he hadn’t waited long enough for it too cool. “But it’s not irrelevant.”

Mertil set his scissors down. ‹Don’t be evasive, human,› he said in a commanding voice that sent chills up Marco’s neck as effectively as if he had a tail blade. ‹What are you saying?›

“I don’t know how you’d say it. We weren’t in a relationship, but it was something. More than friendship,” Marco admitted. Mertil stood very still, clearly shocked. Marco got nervous quickly. “Um, are we cool?”

‹I didn’t take Aximili for the type to consort with aliens,› Mertil said finally.

“Yeah? Well, you don’t really know him, and you have to admit, I’m a very charming alien.” Mertil didn't reply. Marco poured another cup of tea and stirred vigorously. “Is this a problem?”

‹It is… extremely unusual,› Mertil said. ‹We also don't discuss these matters, as a rule; I am somewhat abashed by your candor.›

“Well, you know how I feel about Andalite rules.”

‹I do. You consider them ‘dumb suggestions.’› Mertil picked his scissors up and went back to trimming the small shrub. ‹I am in no position to judge you or _Aristh_ Aximili.›

Marco chuckled darkly. “You think it's weird. Great. My outcast friend thinks I'm weird.”

‹I am glad you consider me your friend, Marco. I don't know how I feel about you sacrificing something important to you for someone like me. Even if it is, as you say, weird.› Mertil stopped clipping and examined his work, brushing the plant lightly. 

“Can you try not to talk about yourself that way? Anyway, my problem with Ax isn't specifically about you, so don't worry about it.” Marco picked up a scone and smelled it again, then took a bite. 

It was soft and fragrant and the perfect balance of sweet and spicy. He sighed. It was so good it made Marco sad in a few different ways. He was sad he couldn't share them with Ax. He was sad this might be Gafinilan’s last batch of his favorite pastry. 

‹You asked if I could be with Gafinilan if we had a disagreement such as the one you have with Aximili.› Mertil stood back from his plant and pulled out opposite branches, checking the symmetry like a hairdresser would a haircut. Either satisfied or very dissatisfied, Marco couldn't tell which, Mertil pushed the pot aside to look at Marco seriously. ‹I could.›

Marco frowned. He chatted a bit more with Mertil, trying to keep things light and not weird, but failing at both. Mertil wasn't really in the mood anyway, so Marco asked if he would box up the scones for him. Mertil complied graciously, even tying a neat, somewhat intricate bow on the package. 

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?” Marco commented. 

‹Presentation is important,› Mertil insisted. 

“Well,” Marco said, “I don't disagree. So, I'm gonna go. Um, tell Gaf I said hello. And take care of yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gafinilan makes a request. Marco works things out with Ax, in more than one way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: death, sadness

Marco left the greenhouse and headed for the back gate. He was still carrying the box of scones and didn’t trust his osprey morph to get them anywhere intact, so he would have to get to the forest the old fashioned way. Before he could make it off the Andalites’ property, the sound of someone forcefully clearing his throat caused him to nearly leap out of his skin.

Marco whirled and saw an unfamiliar man sitting on the stoop that led to the Andalites’ back door. He knew that the door led directly to Mertil and Gafinilan’s personal quarters. Marco studied the man, realizing he wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. Just very, very nondescript.

“Gaf?” Marco asked.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to call me that,” Gafinilan, in human morph, responded gruffly.

“Sorry, Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad,” Marco drew out every vowel, in the way a king’s name might be announced on Monty Python.

He expected Gafinilan to be annoyed at that, but instead he grunted appreciatively. “A human who can properly remember an Andalite name. And I assumed you were all desperately stupid.” 

Marco barked out a laugh and then glanced over at the greenhouse where he could see Mertil still tending to the plants. He hadn’t heard. “Yeah, well. Most of us are, I’m not gonna lie. To what do I owe the pleasure of you deigning to speak with me? I thought you were offended that I’ve been encroaching on Mertil’s solitude.”

“Mertil may choose how he spends his time,” Gafinilan stated. “I simply don’t like you.”

Marco grinned. “Now I see what Mertil sees in you. Who doesn’t love an honest man?”

“Please understand, if I had my tail, the blade would be at your throat for daring to speak of our relationship so casually,” Gafinilan warned.

“Oh, so if I’m ever on the Andalite homeworld and catch someone gossiping, I have the right to threaten them? Good to know,” Marco replied, his tone collected. He played it cool, but he gripped his box of scones tightly around the edges, the memory of Gafinilan’s impressive Andalite physique at the back of his mind. 

“Indeed,” Gafinilan confirmed. “I eavesdropped on your conversation with Mertil.”

“I figured,” Marco said, his tone biting. “What happened to ‘he may choose how to spend his time’?”

“I am still sworn to protect him. Though a foolish human child doesn’t pose much threat, even to a _vecol_.”

Marco put his hand over his heart, as if it was pierced by an arrow. “Sick burn, for sure,” he said sarcastically. “You wouldn’t talk to me if you didn’t have something to say, so please go ahead and say it before I die from the suspense.”

“Is it true you have formed a relationship with _Aristh_ Aximili?” Gafinilan asked seriously.

Marco couldn’t help himself. “What kind of a relationship, Gaf? Are we best buds? Comrades-in-arms? Coworkers? I just don’t know what you could mean -- our human standards for what constitutes a relationship are just _so loose_.”

“You are an infuriating human and I don’t know how Mertil tolerates you,” Gafinilan said, the tone of his voice becoming even more clipped.

“He’s lonely,” Marco spat. “His husband is dying, but still insists on working all the time, so he’s _lonely_. It’s not that hard to understand.”

“Husband,” Gafinilan scoffed. “You have a lot of nerve.”

“I do. It’s my most adorable quality. Well. Ax seems to like my hair a lot. But after that, it’s all nerve.” 

Gafinilan shook his head. “You have no shame. Mertil must be desperate if he enjoys your disgraceful company.” He seemed to have problems forming the next words. “But I must… thank you. He does not deserve to be alone, or to bear the effects of my illness with no one else to confide in. That you happen to be a particularly horrible human seems to bother him little.”

“Aw, I like him, too,” Marco said in the same guarded, sarcastic tone he’d been using.

“I said thank you, human.” Gafinilan’s shoulders were tense with exasperation.

“And I said _I like Mertil_. I’m not being his friend because I feel sorry for him, or to ease your guilt or whatever. If you think he doesn’t deserve to be alone, yeah, I agree. Maybe you should spend however much time you have left with him. You might not regret it, but he sure will.”

Gafinilan flinched as if Marco had whipped a tail blade at his face. “Who are you to tell me this?”

“I’m someone who lost someone important,” Marco stated seriously, his voice shifting to a throaty undertone. “And didn’t have anyone to talk about it with.”

Gafinilan shook his head. “You have formed an improper, _fraternizing_ relationship with _Aristh_ Aximili,” he accused.

“Gosh, you Andalites are so romantic. Mertil says Ax ‘consorts’ with aliens, now it’s improper fraternization. So many things to whisper when we’re alone.”

Gafinilan recoiled. “Your flagrance is disgusting. It reflects poorly on both Aximili and Mertil.”

“I get that a lot. Yes, Ax and I are fraternizing. What’s your point?”

“‘My point’ is, I don’t have much time before I am claimed by my disease. I don’t want your pity. But it is a fact that Mertil will not be able to perform even the most basic of what is required to deal with a death in his condition.” Gafinilan spoke like forming words was the equivalent of lifting three hundred pounds over his head. Actually, considering how ripped his Andalite body was, the words were probably more difficult. “I need you to promise to attempt to secure Aximili’s assistance when I am dead.”

Marco swallowed. “Um. Well. I hope I can do that. Ax has some pretty strong opinions about Mertil.”

“I am well aware of what our society expects. But young Aximili has clearly broken laws in his association with humans. To scratch the surface. If he has any sense of true honor, he will put aside his duty to shun Mertil.” He rose gingerly, the movements of a man in chronic pain, even though Marco was under the impression he wasn’t in pain while morphed. Must have been a habit. “Now, I am tired of speaking to you and wish to take your advice and spend my remaining time with Mertil. Please leave.”

Marco frowned as he backed up toward the gate at the rear of their property. “Is uh, is Ax going to get in trouble for what’s gone on between us if he ever goes back?”

Gafinilan tilted his head and looked at Marco with heavy-lidded, arrogant eyes. “How will they know?” With a cold, cryptic smile, he set off toward the greenhouse.

Unsettled, Marco departed through the back gate. He took the back roads to the shopping center near school, where he’d stashed his clothes before morphing, and redressed. He held his parcel carefully on the bus to Cassie’s farm. 

He took the long way around to avoid her or anyone else who might be visiting her -- everyone knew he and Ax weren't talking, and he didn't want to make it more of a thing than it already was. Cassie had already started looking at him pitiably in school. Marco wondered if she was surprised he even had principles to stand by. What a world, where Cassie could possibly be proud of him for standing up for what was right. 

Well. Maybe. He stepped up to the edge of the clearing, peeking out between the trees. Ax had cultivated more hanging fronds on the edge of his scoop, so that ferns and vines fell over the oval opening like curtains. It made it hard to see in without being right on its level. Marco appreciated that it was both a decorative and functional improvement. He also knew Ax, like Mertil, didn't have a lot of patience for gardening, so he had either taken up a new hobby or he’d gotten very bored. 

‹Are you being sneaky, Marco?› Tobias asked. Marco looked up at his usual tree and met his golden glare. ‹You've been there for a few minutes. Thinking about coming in? You want me to leave?› 

Marco nodded. 

‹Okay.› Marco guessed he was using private thought-speak. ‹Hey Ax, I'm gonna grab some dinner. I'll be back in a bit.›

‹Alright, Tobias. Fruitful hunting,› Ax said. 

Marco didn't get to see their casual interactions much -- Tobias was pretty guarded around Marco -- but when he did, he was always reminded of the way he and Jake used to be as close as brothers. Marco hadn't been able to sustain their friendship as it had been; he'd gotten too hard, too focused on the war. The vulnerability it took to be that close was beyond him, now. Marco was happy for Ax and Tobias that they had that, but he couldn't help being jealous at the same time. 

Marco stepped up into the clearing, aware he was squeezing and deforming the corners of the white box of scones. He balanced it on his left hand instead and shoved his right into his hoodie pocket. 

“Ax?” he called, approaching the scoop. 

‹Marco?› Ax sounded surprised. 

“Hey,” Marco said. “I have some treats I thought you'd enjoy more than me, so I wanted to bring them by.”

‹Oh?› Ax sounded excited. Marco smiled, despite himself. ‹Would you like to come in?›

“Yeah,” Marco agreed. 

He crossed the remaining space and stepped down into the scoop. The lighting inside filtered through Ax’s hanging garden, creating softer colors and mottled shapes on the packed dirt floor that moved gently with the breeze. It wasn't a mess, like the last time Marco had come, and Ax had rearranged his sparse furniture. 

“I like what you’ve done,” Marco commented, nodding. 

“Thank you,” Ax said with his human mouth. He had obviously started morphing as soon as Marco had mentioned “treats.” 

They stood at opposite ends of the scoop. Ax studied the box in Marco’s hands. Marco studied Ax’s face. Marco was glad he had a reason to get him into human morph, not just because he’d missed ogling his extremely attractive human form, but also because Ax was easier to read as a human. And human Ax, though captivating in a different way, was less disarming. As in, Andalite Ax could easily render you literally armless. 

Marco closed the distance between them, trying to keep his breath regular. They'd been fighting for weeks, but it only seemed to render him more exposed. More likely to snap, but also more likely to agonize over the way Ax was biting his lower lip. 

Ax wasn't looking at the box anymore, and their eyes met. It was sharp and painful, like hot electricity hit Marco in the stomach. Ax’s lips parted -- a small gasp and then a gulp. They'd both felt it. Of course. 

Marco pushed the box toward him. “Sit with me,” he demanded. 

Ax took the box and followed Marco to the woven grass mat that served as seating in an Andalite scoop. They sat side by side, Ax giving Marco a fair amount of space, the box of scones resting on his leg. Marco scooted closer so their shoulders touched. They hadn't worked it out yet, but Marco was already emotionally drained from his visit with Mertil and Gafinilan and needed something simple and comforting. As simple as his relationship with Ax could be. 

Ax looked down at Marco cautiously. “Don't we need to talk? Tall-kuh?”

“Yeah,” Marco said. He put his head on Ax’s warm shoulder. “We will. Go ahead and try the scones though.”

Before he opened the package, Ax wrapped his arm around Marco, pulled him into his side, and put his face in Marco's hair. He inhaled deeply. Marco could feel himself blushing intensely, and all his muscles wound up tight, which was his instinctual response to a hug. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax as he let it out slowly. His throat was hot and he pressed his lips against Ax’s shoulder, then rubbed his cheek against Ax's soft, freckle-sprinkled skin. 

“I am sorry,” Ax said breathlessly. He reluctantly let Marco go and put both hands back on the pastry box. 

Marco looked up at him. “For what? Hugging me? Or everything?”

“Yes,” Ax said obliquely, his fingers touching the ribbon Mertil had tied so deftly.

“Go ahead,” Marco encouraged. 

Ax slowly picked out the knot with deliberate, adept fingers and opened the box. Marco could smell the cinnamon, and he knew Ax could, too. Ax’s pupils were dilated, looking at the perfect little triangular biscuits, glazed in delicate frosting swirls. He picked one up reverently and smelled it like a wine taster, savoring the sweet, spicy, buttery notes. Marco tried not to laugh. 

Ax finished the first one slowly and the second one in two bites. He pressed his eyes shut tightly and leaned into Marco’s side. His joy was literally infectious, since Marco felt the bleed of Ax’s excitement into his own mild anxiety and overwhelmed weariness. 

“Where did you get these?” Ax asked. 

The million dollar question. 

“Mertil,” Marco answered. Ax leaned back and stared at him. “More precisely, Gafinilan bought them. Although, I've not been meeting with him consistently. But I’ve seen Mertil once a week. For four weeks.”

Ax looked at Marco, his face as neutral as his usual Andalite expression. Then he looked back at the scones. He sighed. “I suppose you should thank them on my behalf. Haf. These are almost better than Cinnabon.”

“I never thought I'd hear that,” Marco said, tentatively encouraged by Ax’s response. 

“I am also surprised.” Ax took another bite and held up the ribbon Mertil had used to tie the box. “I should have known,” he said. “The way this was tied is a ceremonial knot. We tie a length of cord or a long, pliable leaf around the trunk of a young tree, then we meditate. Sometimes for weeks. Then you recite the ritual of passage. When you untie the knot, as it loosens, it is meant to symbolize letting go.”

Marco took a long, slow breath. “I think it won't be long for Gafinilan,” he explained. He thought about bringing up Gafinilan’s request, but he was already asking a lot from Ax just to compromise. He’d ask later. “I guess… I guess that's why I needed to come. We could die anytime, fighting the Yeerks. It's stupid to waste it fighting with each other.”

“That is wise, for a human,” Ax remarked, between bites. 

“You're so hot when you get all imperious,” Marco said, rolling his eyes. 

“I recognize the verbal cue for sarcasm, but you do think that,” Ax accused, completely straight-faced. 

Marco gave him a shove. “You better be joking.”

“Can reality be a joke? Kuh?” Ax smiled and fluttered his eyelashes at Marco. Marco swallowed. 

“Reality is almost always a really bad joke,” Marco shot back. 

Ax picked up the last scone and stared longingly at it, then back into the empty box. He grudgingly put it back into the box, closed it, and set it aside. Ax was saving food. For later. 

“You are friends with… with Mertil now?” Ax asked.

“We’re friends,” Marco confirmed. “Will it be a problem?”

“I have been thinking about your opinions. I still do not completely agree. Gree. But your stance has merit, and compassion is an important virtue -- though it can be dangerous,” Ax said, and Marco inferred he was thinking of Seerow’s Kindness. “I have had many discussions with Tobias and Cassie, as well. They were very patient.”

“Unlike me,” Marco remarked. 

“I understand your reactions. You feel like you, and our friends, are becoming internally broken. Andalite culture requires such a burden to be borne alone. An external burden is not one’s own to carry. Humans don't draw a distinction.” Ax was thoughtful for a moment, then continued, “I see the value in having compassion for both.”

Marco sighed and put his head back down on Ax’s shoulder. Marco owed Cassie some volunteer time at the Clinic. Not that he wasn't mostly just in the way, providing witty commentary. “I can live with that,” he said. 

“I cannot guarantee I will always give appropriate responses on this matter,” Ax warned. 

“It’s important that you're trying,” Marco allowed. 

Ax put his arm around Marco again. They sat quietly for a minute. 

Marco broke the silence because he couldn't abide silence. “So, do you think that ritual of passage worked for you?”

Ax hummed softly. “I am not able to let go for Mertil.”

~*~

It had been a week. Marco was almost dreading his meeting with Mertil, considering the dark mood he had been in the last time Marco visited. But Marco kept appointments, and he was usually there for his friends, even if he was not the go-to guy for a sensitive, emotionally receptive response.

He flew near their house. No one in the greenhouse. No lights. The yard was a little unkempt. Marco filled with cold dread. He got as close as he felt comfortable, allowing for the fact that Mertil might not have remembered to turn off the force field. 

‹Mertil?› he called out gently. 

He circled the house for at least a couple minutes before a response came. 

‹Not today,› Mertil said weakly. The depth of sadness in his thought-speech was so overwhelming, Marco lost a few feet of altitude, then panicked because he knew he would hit the force field. There was no way Mertil had turned it off if Gafinilan was dead. Marco pulled up, flapping hard. 

He didn't know how to respond. Helpless. The worst feeling. ‹Can I -- can I do anything?›

‹Please leave,› Mertil begged. Mertil didn't yell, but his thought-speech ripped through Marco in a way he'd never felt before. Marco almost fell out of the sky and wobbled, his mind reeling from the anguish in Mertil’s telepathy. His osprey instincts panicked. He flew away. He had to. 

‹ _Are you okay?_ › he heard in the distance. Far, far off. 

‹Ax?› Marco responded. 

‹ _What just happened?_ › Marco could barely pick up Ax’s words, but he could feel his worry. They were doing it again -- the super thought-speak. The worst kind of superpower that only worked in situations that were super shitty. 

‹I’m flying away from Mertil’s. I… I'm pretty sure it's over.› Marco was still so disoriented, he wasn't even sure where he was flying. He scanned the horizon quickly and banked for the direction of the forest; he didn't want to lose Ax by flying too far away.

‹ _That is unfortunate but not unexpected,_ › Ax replied, flooding Marco with relief. Marco wasn’t relieved at all, though.

Marco remembered Gafinilan’s request and cursed himself for not discussing it with Ax before it happened. ‹What needs to be done? What’s the custom? Should I leave him alone?› Marco asked.

‹ _There is much that needs to be done. Traditionally, a birth and a death are the only events for which an extended family will gather. There are rituals that need to be performed, a vigil that should properly last for days, considering Gafinilan’s service, then the Rite of Sending, to commit his remains and his essence back to nature. Mertil should not… Possibly he cannot do them alone._ ›

Marco had thought his mother’s funeral was overwhelming. ‹That’s a lot,› Marco commented.

‹ _Andalites perform a ritual to commemorate our lives and duty every morning. It is the highest duty of a family to properly conclude one’s lifetime commitment._ ›

‹Do you know what to do?› 

‹ _I have attended two such ceremonies. I have never been a major participant._ ›

‹Is it a problem that there was no one to do that for Elfangor?› Marco wondered.

Ax was quiet for a moment, then replied, ‹ _Most warriors are not afforded the immediate courtesy of a Sending and fewer still are able to be buried. But Tobias was with him. And my family would have reacted appropriately when I told them. It is not, as some humans believe, that he will not reach the afterlife. Our only duty in death is to nature. And Elfangor left no remains._ ›

If Marco wasn’t a bird, he would be freaking out. He was still kind of freaking out. He felt like he was eleven again. He knew what he had to ask. He knew what Gafinilan wanted. ‹Ax, can you help?›

‹ _Yes,_ › he said simply. As if it wasn’t a question. 

Marco turned back toward Mertil’s street and perched across the road, in one of the neighbors’ trees. Ax met him there after about ten minutes, during which time Marco had imagined about thirty different ways the interaction could go. 

Ax, in northern harrier morph, landed next to Marco on the tree branch. It was weird to be comforted by the presence of another bird of prey, and Marco’s osprey instincts hated it, even if Ax was a significantly smaller bird. But Marco was so thankful to have him there, he nipped at Ax’s white chest feathers gently with his beak. 

‹What has happened?› Ax asked.

‹He told me to go away. Painfully,› Marco said.

‹Is this a good idea?› Ax asked.

‹I’m not going to leave my friend alone with his dead _shorm_ ,› Marco said shakily. ‹Mertil?› he called out. No response. ‹Mertil, I brought Ax to help. You can still tell us to go away, but you don’t have to be alone.›

Silence.

Marco and Ax looked at each other. Marco was swimming in a mix of their mutual discomfort, anxiety, and worry. Marco didn’t know how Ax felt about it, but sharing an empathic link with his telepathic, alien not-quite-boyfriend wasn’t his favorite thing. He had enough bad feelings of his own.

Marco was getting antsy and feeling like it was probably time to leave soon, when Mertil spoke. ‹ _Aristh_ Aximili, you would agree to assist me, despite my disgraceful condition?› His thought-speech was apprehensive, but Marco could tell he was trying to sound resolute.

‹I will do everything in my power to honor the memory of Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad,› Ax responded.

‹Please,› Mertil beckoned, ‹come in through the back.› 

Ax, followed closely by Marco, dropped out of the tree and glided into Mertil’s back yard. They demorphed close to the house, and Marco led Ax to the back door. There was an identical security pad to the one in Mertil’s kitchen, but Marco knew the code now. He punched it in, and the door slid open.

The back door led directly to what had been their private quarters. Marco had never seen it dark in this room, but the lighting was dimmed to the point that it looked like night. He stepped up onto the grass, soft under his bare feet. The door shut behind them.

Marco’s eyes fell on the still form laying in the center of the room and he let in a short gasp. He bit his lip to stay quiet, but his heart was racing. Gafinilan’s huge body was laid out in the center of the grassy enclave, wrapped in cloth. Marco couldn’t help it; he grabbed Ax’s hand. Ax pulled away immediately.

‹I am sorry, but not in front of Mertil,› Ax said in private thought-speech. 

Marco scanned the dark room, wringing his hands. There was a light hum from some of the electronic equipment that was still on, but the wall of televisions was off. Mertil stood at the tall table, slumped over, his arms resting on the surface, fingers threaded together. All four eyes were fixed on Gafinilan’s body. 

Ax stepped forward. ‹Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad fought courageously for the People.› Mertil rose, straightening his posture. Ax continued, ‹He found honor in strength, but his strength has now departed. He will not rise again, but the sun will still rise on us, who remember his name. His final duty is to return to nature, where he will serve in equal honor.›

‹Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad,› Mertil answered, his voice low but strong, ‹served freedom, his prince, and the People. He returns to the water, the grass, and the sky. His service has earned him peace.›

Marco was shaking. He felt deeply intrusive. He didn’t do well with death -- his usual coping mechanisms were inappropriate, so he was always the awkwardly detached quiet onlooker who didn’t know how to deal with other people’s feelings. Even at his own mother’s funeral. And that was just a Catholic service, not an alien one.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring at Gafinilan’s corpse under his gauzy shroud. It was hard to believe the stubborn, powerful Andalite who had been so terrifying just a month and a half ago was dead. He tried to imagine what Mertil was going through. He thought he’d lost his mother four years ago. When he found out she was Visser One, he’d spent two more years bouncing between trying to save her and murder her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been brutalized, but he’d gotten to speak to his mom, his real mom, for the first time in… He didn’t know how long. And she’d chosen to remain Visser One’s host, to save Earth. Marco could have saved her, but she chose to save Earth. His closest brush with the death of a loved one was a lot more complicated than a body. 

Maybe the certainty of a corpse was better.

His throat burning, Marco looked up at Ax, who was making eye contact with Mertil. They were having a private thought-speak conversation. If Marco focused, he could feel the ebb of Ax’s emotions as they spoke -- mostly pity, some respect, a hint of disgust. Marco crossed his arms and looked at the ground. 

‹Marco,› Mertil said, and he looked up. ‹If you would like, you may go. _Aristh_ Aximili has assured me he intends to assist with… with everything that needs to be done. I appreciate your friendship and help, but… it is an Andalite matter.›

Marco tried not to seem too eager, because he definitely wanted to run for the door. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

‹There are many things I need that you nor anyone can provide,› Mertil answered.

“Fair,” Marco said. “You feel comfortable with Ax?”

‹Comfort is beyond me right now. I need him and he is willing,› Mertil said.

“Okay. Guess that’s the best you can do.” Marco turned to Ax. “Please be nice to my friend,” he whispered.

‹I would not violate Gafinilan’s vigil with petty behavior. It will be fine. It will take several days. Please do not worry.›

Marco sighed and nodded. He looked back at Mertil, who looked heavy with grief. “I’m really, really sorry. Please let me know if you need anything.” 

Marco glanced once more at Gafinilan’s body, then left out the back door. He’d never felt more conflicted about being given permission to cut and run.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [fairkidforever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fairkidforever/pseuds/fairkidforever) for reading this and being super encouraging and making me realize that the parts of this that aren't supposed to be sad are still pretty sad, whoops. Please go check out their work -- "a million things i haven't done" is my favorite series in this fandom.


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